


Company Calls

by KousKousx



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Rating will go up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KousKousx/pseuds/KousKousx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick could hardly remember the misery of his own nuptials, having started with a numbie and a fifth of whiskey in the limo ride over. Considering he was currently about an hour and a half into a bottle of Jim Beam, Rick wanted to make sure he couldn’t remember the misery of Morty’s, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Company Calls

**Author's Note:**

> So [irodabrak](http://irodabrak.tumblr.com) and I were lamenting over [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qz1GwlIvIjU) song and of course it turned into RickMorty sin-collab and uh, here you go. This fic will be split into two endings.
> 
> Thanks again to [dadvans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dadvans/pseuds/dadvans) for beta'ing, you're the shit as always, hombre. And all this amazing art belongs to irodabrak, and the characters, songs, products all belong to their respective owners, I own nothing but the self indulgence up in here.

_Synapse to synapse, the possibilities thin_  
_I’m dressed up for free drinks and family greetings_  
_On your wedding_  
_Your wedding  
_ _Your wedding day_

  
Rick had told himself years ago that today was inevitable; that one day, he would find himself forced into an itchy suit with Beth fussing over his tie, asking her father sweetly to ‘refrain from making a scene,’ so casually reminding him how much it meant to Morty. One day he’d become another seat filler, with his choice of a guest. Merely a reception card, asking if he prefered chicken or beef. Just one amongst the masses, who were content wasting away in their folding chairs, gawking, _oohing_ and _ahing_ over the stupid, tacky decor and the ugly, stained glass windows. At the very least Rick was thankful that his grandson hadn’t gone with a predictable and musty ass chapel, but that didn’t make their choice—a drafty and stale banquet hall—any less painful or uninteresting in design and presence. At least here, which was not a certified house of worship, the ceiling wouldn’t cave in once Rick stepped foot inside and murder every unfortunate schmuck who RSVP’d.

Melancholy thoughts of Rick’s own marriage filled his head; about a good three-fourths of them were miserable. He knew early on that he didn’t want the married life--didn’t want the white picket fence, the dog shitting in the yard, or the ugly Azalea bushes.

Rick lied to himself for a little while, got a baby girl out of the whole ordeal and a fed up ex-wife but inevitably, matrimony ended for Rick when his style felt a bit too cramped. Rick needed the endless depths of space, not the stuffy, tight corners of a living room. Rather than drag the ‘ball and chain’ around for another five years, Rick liked to think he had been humane by detaching himself and leaving, slipping out of his family’s lives like he was never even there to begin with.

Rick could hardly remember the misery of his own nuptials, having started with a numbie and a fifth of whiskey in the limo ride over. Considering he was currently about an hour and a half into a bottle of _Jim Beam_ , Rick wanted to make sure he couldn’t remember the misery of Morty’s, either.

Tucked away at a bar in an adjoining room, Rick avoided the rest of the family and friends who were sobbing once _Ave Maria_ began wafting through the speakers. Rick took a long sip of his drink, letting dribble fall down onto the collar of his jacket. With a scowl, he turned towards the wedding which was proceeding without him, fingers laced tight around his glass.

Through the window panes of the door, he spotted the bride to be. Jessica was a sight to behold as she clutched her father’s arm, skirting down the aisle in perfectly, rehearsed steps. Morty stood at the altar, looking worried, sweating to the socks. He hardly looked in Rick’s direction--he hardly looked in Jessica’s either. He was out of sorts, out of place, mouth drawn up in a pucker. Nervous. Nervous and stupid. Morty Smith looked like he usually did when he was in a tight spot.

Rick had convinced himself a year ago that he wasn’t what Morty wanted, or what Morty deserved, even if their bodies swore otherwise. Before Morty resigned himself to wedlock, he shared a secret with Rick so tremendous and terrible, so horribly satisfying that it left even Rick keening for more, despite his best efforts. Rick would lay awake at night with Morty curled up close, naked and spent. Even after long hours of doting on his flask, he couldn’t bear the logic. What good was he doing his grandson by letting the sinful charade continue? Again, it was the _humane_ thing to do--the altruist in Rick told him to cut Morty off like a cankerous wound: clean, precisely, and for the greater good. Phantom pains from their memories, he could endure; ruining Morty, he could not.

Seated under the crucifix, Rick thought back to the last time he fucked Morty. That evening he had been feeling particularly bitter--like he had wanted to make sure Morty knew how sordid of a bastard he could be. But Rick Sanchez was a selfish man, he had to indulge one last night, couldn’t say no to his perverted urges. Rick needed to fuck Morty one more time, if only for himself.

Rick’s spine twitched as a reflex, recalling the way Morty’s nails bit angrily into his back, cutting into the skin like sharp, tiny hooks. The memory, vivid but short-lived, ended with Morty peering up from underneath him, tired and exhausted. Rick look down at him, all too aware it was their last night together.

Rick knew well enough that he should pull out, wipe his dick dry on the blankets and get dressed. End the twilight hours by drinking himself to sleep alone in the garage. He remembered feeling stuck, hands anchored into the mattress, cock nestled deep inside Morty like it could change his mind.

And Morty had been so unsuspecting of the ever nearing end, so foolish in trusting a man like Rick. With big, brown _Bambi_ eyes, intense and all consuming, full of awe and admiration, he stared up at Rick like he was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed.

 _Love is fleeting_ , Rick reminded himself as he took another sip from his glass, well aware he drew burning looks from a few onlookers. He didn’t give a fuck. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of Morty. Morty, as he lifted Jessica’s vale, trying  to smile, his lips trembling, his temples drenched. _Love is nothing but chemicals in the brain. Just enzymes, and, and serotonin and dopamine. Nothing but synapsis firing off, nothing but stupid, monkey emotions made for breeding._

 “Another,” Rick slurred at the barkeep, who soundlessly poured him a shot, knowing to let the poor old, slob be.

Rick’s tie felt tight and suffocating like a noose, so he ripped at it roughly till it became undone messily around his shoulders. Without flinching, Rick knocked back another shot of whiskey, rapping his knuckles on the countertop as a means of requesting more.

His vision was blurry when he looked back up at the altar. Jerry was the best man, Morty’s only true confidant. Weeping away quietly, he looked absolutely pathetic as he sniveled into his handkerchief.

Both Beth and Jerry had been ecstatic about the proposal. They had always worried about their son, had told Rick he was interfering with Morty’s personal life by dragging him off into space. That Morty needed to meet girls and boys his own age so he could be a more normal, adjusted adult.

 _If only they knew_ , Rick thought with a half smile, dribble collecting on his mouth as he took a long sip of booze.

Even after Rick had left Morty to the dogs--had told Morty that he was too annoying and clingy, young and idiotic, way too hopeful and naive--even _after_ Morty started seeing Jessica, altering his life to move in with her, asking her to share his hand in marriage, his grandson would send him pitiful, wayward texts.

‘ _i miss you_ ,’ they would say, and when Rick was drunk enough, he’d respond-- _appease_ Morty, give him what he wanted. Ask him if he still thought about his dick late at night. Sometimes, Morty replied. Sometimes, Morty would let weeks go on in between before starting up again, nailing his heart onto his sleeve in the form of a poorly spelled text message.

Rick smiled to himself as the barkeep poured him another shot, watching as the fat fuck of a Priest read from his _Book of Revelations_. He used to get off at the idea of Morty pining for him. Laying in bed with Jessica, realizing that his high school paramore could never fuck him quite like Rick, his mean, rotten drunk of a grandfather. It wasn’t hard to convince himself that Morty felt hollow without the shame and thrill that Rick provided. He would imagine Morty shutting his eyes when he burrowed into Jessica, will himself to get lost and pretend that he was content, that she was more than enough. Rick told himself even now that he was okay with that fact, even found it amusing, as he took another drink.

  
Rick’s stomach churned when Jessica faced Morty, took his hand in her’s to recite her personal vows. Slinging back another shot, Rick didn’t bother to waste time hearing them, confident they were filled with crappy, unoriginal sentiments that would bore him to tears. With her back to the bar, Morty was facing him. When Jessica looked down at her perfectly manicured script, Morty met his eyes through the glass.

Rick’s heart stopped treacherously as Morty looked at him--not in distaste, not in anger--but with eyes so sorrowful, so lonely and empty, that it knocked the wind out of him; made Rick feel small, just utterly helpless and cruel--more than it should have.

 _No_ , Rick thought, his vision tunneling. He denied that his hands were trembling and his pulse was racing. Refused to believe that when Morty closed his eyes in defeat that it was over him, that even one ounce of his wedding jitters had anything to do with Rick.

Rick’s heart beat was quick and erratic when his feet met linoleum, brooding ominous in his ears. Intoxicated and dizzy, he had to find his bearings before he could drag himself to the door. From behind the glass, Morty felt miles away, the stretch of tiles leading to the reception like an oasis in a desert, and Rick felt parched to the bone. He wobbled from left to right as he stood in the doorway, eyeing the finely polished doorknob like it could scald him.

He was well aware that the tradition to _speak now or forever hold your peace_ was phased out of wedding ceremonies years ago, but that would never-- _could_ never--curb Rick. He had crashed weddings before, for the free cocktail hour or because Bird Person and Squanchy promised a bridesmaid or two. Yet never on this scale; never because he wanted to whisk his grandson away, to have him all to himself, to show the family the true depravity of Rick Sanchez.

Reaching for the door, he felt the cool curve of brass under his sweaty fingers. The crowd had their eyes on Morty, who spoke-- _struggled_ through his vows, kept looking side to side like he was waiting--for an interruption, a cough, a fart, _anything_ to stop his agonizing stutters.

Rick hesitated, could hear only his breathing, shallow and ragged, as he made to open the door.

His hand refused to move, grip frozen in a tight vice around the handle, barring him from opening the door and filling the ceremony with the ripe stink of whiskey and shame. Rick’s knuckles’ turned white as he squeezed harder, ignoring the worrisome tremble in his fingers that jarred the metal about.

Rick focused on Morty. Watched as the priest drawled on and how Jerry bawled his eyes out. There was his grandson, shifting foot to foot, peering at the floor like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, looked so sure of it in that moment. Yet Rick thought about the life that Morty would live with him. The estrangement from his family. The social stigma. The constant running and danger. The coldness of his grandfather, the inevitable unhappiness that Rick would instill in him. His commitment issues, his drinking, his lack of empathy. That the destitution of space, the things that hardened Rick into the man he was today, would chew Morty up and spit him out. All because Morty thought he knew what was best for him. All because Rick was a selfish piece of shit.

Rick practically stumbled back to his seat, feeling frozen and distant, uncoordinated like his legs belonged to someone else. Mid shuffle, something stuck out in the corner of his eye, stopping him in his tracks.

Summer had gone _on_ about the wedding cake. Couldn’t shut up about how early in advance she had to book the order, how expensive it was, how bittersweet it would be when the bride and groom made the first cut into it’s pristine, pearly white icing. Rick seethed as he approached the table, looking at the lump of confectionary for the real eyesore that it was.

At the very top of the cake stood those stupid figurines, the man and wife, with their perfectly painted outfits and tiny, carved faces. Rick swayed back and forth as he reached, pulling them off carefully enough so only their feet were tipped in frosting. He felt good when he pushed them deep into the confines of his pocket. He felt even better when after the reception, after Morty pressed his lips onto Jessica’s to the elated sound of cheers, the wedding guests proceeded to fret over where they could have possibly disappeared to when they crowded in for cocktail hour.

Rick stayed glued to the bar for the rest of the night, busying himself with the bottom of his shot glass. He heard everyone’s murmurs, felt their condescending stares, could practically smell their disappointment and disgust over his poor behavior. But all who mattered was Morty. All that mattered was the anguish on Morty’s face every time their eyes met.

All that mattered was Morty up until Rick took one too many shots and everything turned black.

 

 


End file.
